Watermarks
by watermarks
Summary: There comes a time in a person's life where it's not about proving to others what you can do, it's about proving it to yourself. Maybe its Sam's turn to prove his worth not just to himself, but to the world. Time travel
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

I am only going to say this once, listen close:

**Disclaimer**: This is not for any material profit, only sentimental. Supernatural does not belong to me, it belongs to Kripke/TheCW/et al.

**A/N:** This is my first Supernatural Fanfiction so please be kind! This story starts at 1012, does a nice loop-de-loop then starts drifting to the left...yeah.

**Prologue**

"Can you turn me back?" Tina ask.

"The hex bag ended up in flames," Dean says. Remorse is clear to see in the way he looks down at her. "I'm so sorry Tina."

Sam can see that Dean is struggling and he doesn't need this guilt too. Sam has to say something to fix this. "We may be able to reverse engineer the spell though," and his mind is racing through lists of contacts, maybe some old hunter has run into this kind of thing before; nothing is new in the supernatural world.

"Or maybe you don't," Tina says and its like the slow rise of the sun after an endless night. "I got three ex-husbands, 50 grand in debt, and not much else. I was... kind of a crappy adult. Maybe I'll do better this time around. Get out of town. Get a fresh start. This is my second chance. Everybody wants a second chance right?"

It's barely there for a split second and if Sam wasn't looking he would have missed it; the minute crumbling of Dean's face before he reigns it in with that famous Winchester's-don't-show-weakness skill. But Sam knows. Dean's crushed because this was supposed to be his second chance. A chance to have a childhood, to grow up without having to be a parent to a younger sibling, who knows, maybe even go to college. A chance to be free of the Mark.

With a brave yet carefully blank face Dean ask, " You sure you're going to be alright?"

"Like I told you I always am," Tina says and Dean can see it's the first time she really truly believes it when she says it. Her face is young and bright like the first rays of dawn, eyes shining bright with her future.

_A second chance_

_A second chance_

_'Everybody wants a second chance right?'_ Tina's word resonates around Sam's head like an echo. Hits right at the heart like a punch to the solar plexus. It hits home because it's true. Dean deserves a second chance. If anyone does it's him. They've been through hell and back, literally. They fought off the apocalypse, angels, demons, death, hell everything. When is life going to give then a break, some reprieve against this seemingly endless onslaught. If not for Sam, because heaven knows he's been tainted from the age of 6 months and destined to be evil from even before that. But Dean is good, pure and selfless. The only true good person Sam's ever known. He's noble. Always ready to pull a Dean Winchester.

They're standing at the bus station after giving Tina all the money they had between them, a cool $712.00, sending her off to her brand new life and Sam can't help but resent her a little.

"I wanted you back" Sam confess after Tina leaves. He looks Dean in the eye trying to let him know that its ok, that everythings going to be alright. He still can't help but resent himself a little for saying that, but Sam's has always been selfish, especially when it came to Dean. "As for the rest of it... the mark, everything else. We'll figure it out, we always do."

Except they don't, not when it comes to saving Dean. When Sam weighs his track record for saving Dean, he finds it wanting. When Dean's heart was failing, it was another hunter that told Sam about the faith healer, and though Dean was fixed at the end of that mess, the guilt of an innocent life weighed heavily on Dean's shoulders and gnawed at his self-esteem. When Dean was living out his last year in what was clearly a desperate cry for help before his trip to hell, Sam swore to Dean that he would save him; he promised... and when that year was up, Dean screamed as the pack of Hell hounds tore him apart right in front of Sam. He will never, for as long as he lives forget those screams; the gargles of choked cries and piercing wails of agony turned into nightmares morphing the sounds into the words _"loser, liar, failure_!" Every night they kept him awake for months, untill Dean miraculously showed up at his door step. Nothing hurt as much as telling Dean that he wasn't the one that saved him from hell, and even though Dean tried to hide it, his eyes couldn't hide the raw hurt and disappointment he felt at Sam's failure to fulfill his promise to save him. And the biggest stain of them all, purgatory; the less said the better; he never even tried, and Dean may not ever truly forgive him for it. Now this, the Mark. Sam doesn't know what hurts more, the fact that he's failing once again at protecting Dean and saving him, or the fact that Dean has no faith that Sam will come through for him. He's half hearted in this fight and believes that it's beyond Sam's ability to help him. Sam's abhorrent of his own perceived incompetence...

Not this time. Sam's going to save Dean and he's going to do it alone.

_"Maybe I'll do better this time around"_

_"A second chance_"


	2. Chapter 2: Search

**Disclaimer: See Prologue.**

**A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews and followers! I really wasn't expecting any, but thanks for joining the journey. This chapter got done so fast because of you guys: dulcinea54, sylvia37, sparklebattle, reannablue, and missingmikey. I will try my best to post a chapter every week, maybe more if I get some good inspiration and/or encouragement *wink* :). Also, I will try to write long chapters to make up for the wait. Enjoy!**

**Chapter 2: Search**

The library in the bunker is drafty.

Sam has always found this strange as the Men of Letters hideout -or bat cave as Dean fondly refers to it- is supposed to be sealed airtight. He doesn't let the cold air caressing the small hairs on the back of his neck distract him though. It's been 7 hours, 2 minutes, and a handful of seconds since they got back from the case with Tina. It's now 4:00am and Sam was way too wired to stay laying in his bed doing nothing but waiting for the sun to rise.

It's insane, ludicrous, absurd, obtuse, and all the other words Sam can't think of, but he's doing this, he's going to do this.

He doesn't dare to think the words, much less breathe it out loud. The thoughts are barely an inception in his head, something shadowed and hidden in the corner of his mind, like a silhouette of some strange beast crouched beneath a thicket in some dark midnight forest. He can't risk jinxing himself before he's even begun. He knows it's paranoid, maybe a bit obsessed, but this is more than important, this is _Dean_.

Hiding away in the library at this ungodly hour, Sam sits at the moderately secluded oak table in the back. It gives him a nice view of the entrance and exits while keeping his table partly hidden behind the bookshelf labeled "Ancient Creatures".

He's cleared the table and wiped it clean of every smudge and speck till it gleams in the low light of the desk lamp with the kind of military precision John Winchester, were he still alive, would be proud of. Sam smiles faintly at the thought. He needs everything about this to be perfect.

Taking a deep breath, Sam places a few blank sheets of white printing paper on the table in front of him. Next he places his favorite black ink pen horizontally across the top of the paper. He's ready.

The problem with trying to take on such a massive undertaking on his own, is not knowing where to start. It reminds him of being back in Stanford about to write his first research paper. All successful projects start with a plan.

Picking up his pen, Sam begins to write.

First things first: Dean absolutely cannot know. The plan would get eighty-sixed so fast Sam wouldn't even have time to form a protest, not that Dean would listen if he did anyway. Discretion is key.

Next, he has to know if his goal is possible in the way he needs it to be.

Dean and him have done the whole jumping back to the past thing before with the angels. So he knows in a way it is possible, but going back angel style does not change the future. Dean going back to save Mary ended up being the reason Azazel had targeted Sam in the first place. Going back wasn't to change the future, it was to fulfill it. Sam needs to go back and change everything. Angel power isn't strong enough for the kind of magic he's going to need.

Sam's going to need to give himself a time limit. He can't reasonably expect to keep something this big hidden away from Dean without being found out. He'd be lucky if Dean remained in the dark for a month. He gives himself three months to find what he's after and execute it. That includes wiggle room for error, possible trips he might have to make, and the locating of complex ingredients should the possible spell demand it.

Sam can't think about what might happen if his three months are up and all he has to show for it is bupkis. Even though no one would know that he failed, Sam wouldn't be able to look at himself in the mirror anymore.

Which brings up the next point in the plan: Failure is not an option. To do this Sam is going to have to be prepared to hang up his morals. He's going with the old saying on this one, "the end justify the means". There will be no "going too far". If he has to sell his soul or someone else's, he's going to do it and it wouldn't be the first time. He knows that that poor soul Lester is still burning in hell, because Sam used him to find Dean as a demon, and honestly Sam is ok with that. Which again stresses the point that Dean cannot know. Even if he has to distance himself from him in order to be successful. All he has to keep in mind is that this is all for Dean's own good, and Sam is willing to do anything. He's even willing to hurt Dean if it means it will protect him.

Goals and thoughts written down, Sam starts to research.

* * *

The lore on time travel is vast and the Men of Letters have a lot to say.

Apparently it was something easily done. This explains how they got to meet their grandfather, Henry Winchester, before he died. Frustratingly enough, the Men of Letters only knew how to jump ahead to the future, not the past. It has something to do with the future not being set in stone so therefore more elastic and resilient.

It's been two weeks of research and all Sam has learned is: a) you can only go to the past to observe, stress on the word observe, b) or to fulfill the future which means you were somehow already in the past before. In essence this is a fixed timeline, therefore you can't change the past, c) you can jump to the future, and d) a whole lot of mathematics and science talk about quantum mechanics that uses the words loop, continuum and linear repeatedly.

It's all well and good if Sam cared about going to the future to see if flying cars are real or he wanted to build a theoretical time machine, but what he needs is something more, something impossible. He needs a do over.

Sam vigorously rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms. He's running out of time and there's this low pressure building up in his stomach, slowly rising up like dead fingers to his throat. Sometimes it's hard to breathe, hard to swallow. He can't help but think that one day soon he's going to choke on those phantom fingers tightening around his throat. If he doesn't figure this out he's going to be looking forward to it; death by anxiety.

He can feel it now... tightening his throat until he's almost wheezing.

"Sam?"

With a start Sam quickly removes his hands and looks up at Dean. He's wearing regular sleep clothes, navy blue sweat pants and an over large white t-shirt. It might actually be Sam's t-shirt now that he's looking at the way it's practically hanging off of Dean. That happens when you live in each others pockets and do laundry together in one wash. Dean has pillow creases on his cheek and he's barefoot.

"Hey, its...," Sam looks at his watch, "6 in the morning. What are you doing up?"

"I could ask you the same thing." He shuffles over to Sam's table, and as discreetly as he can, Sam covers up the book he was reading with another open book on top of it.

He's happy he's been sticking to his rule of only one research book on the table top at a time. He's taken to having several open nonrelated books on the table as a diversion. Mostly they are books relating to the mark and tattoos. He keeps the real books he's using for his research on the chair next him and half pushed under the table.

"Just doing some research. I couldn't sleep. Thought I should use the time to make some head way on finding us a new hunt." Sam says it as casually are he can manage.

Dean just stands there staring at him. No one moves for what feels like five minutes but was probably closer to 20 seconds. Then Dean breaks the impromptu staring contest, pulls out the chair in front of him opposite Sam and sits down curling his legs up under him.

"Don't lie to me Sam." He continues to look away from Sam

For one heart stopping moment Sam thinks this is it. Caught before even a month is up.

"I know what you've been up to for the pass few weeks. Seriously Sam your room is right across from mine." Then Dean looks across the table at Sam. "I know you've been getting up every night coming here to research the Mark."

If Sam was a lesser man he might have passed out at the sudden dizzying light headed relief he feels. It's true what he always says, "it's better to be paranoid than sorry".

Slowly breathing out the breath that he wasn't even aware he was holding, Sam replies, " Dean, I know you asked me to stop searching for a cure. I know you said you'd live with it and you just want peace. I know ok, I know, but you can't ask me to give up."

"Sam," and it sounds much more wary than Sam has ever heard his name sound, " I need you to stop trying, for me. I can't live with false hope. There is no magic cure. There's no hope for me and I've made my peace with that. Maybe it's time you made your peace with it, too."

"Dean, even if I did make my peace with it you wouldn't, not for long anyway," He looks at Dean, a small frown forming between his eyes.

"Dean," Sam says the next part as slowly and gently as he can, "Cain was one of the first humans ... he's still alive, he can't die. What are you going to do when I'm 80 or 90 years old and you're still young. Dean, even if I don't get killed from some supernatural creature or ghost, you're still going to have to bury me. I'm all you have left and you are all I have left and eventually I'm going to go somewhere that you can't follow. Will you still have your peace then?"

Dean has no response to this and Sam can't blame him. He knows how codependent Dean can be, and a large part of him will always hate their dad for raising them like this.

It's messed up just how much Dean is afraid to be alone.

Sam doesn't want to think it, but both he and Dean knows that Sam's the more independent or the two. It doesn't make Dean weak, it makes him vulnerable. This isn't the first time that Sam wishes he was born first. If he was the eldest, he would have taken Dean and ran as soon as he turned 18. He'd have gone off to college, gotten a job, and raised Dean the right way. Raise him to be independent and brave. Encourage him to have friends that didn't include old men his dad's age with whiskey on their breath and grief in their eyes. Dean would have felt safe and for once in his life would have a responsible adult taking care of him and not the other way around. Dean would have been able to go to bed in a stable home with his own room, not a rat and roach infested motel room with questionable stains on the carpet, without having to keep his fingers tightly wrapped around the handle of a knife tucked under his pillow. Sam would have done right by him. He knows he would have.

"I need coffee," Dean mumbles and unfolds himself from the chair. Just before he reaches the threshold to exit the library Sam calls out.

"Dean, don't ask me to stop. I won't give up on you. Never again."

With his back still turned, Dean pauses for a second and nods once.

It's enough for now.

* * *

After the confrontation in the library a week ago, it's both easier and harder to hide what he's doing. Easier, because now Sam is free to do research in the daylight hours, greatly increasing the amount of research he can get done. Harder, because now he has Dean tentatively trying to help. Which would be helpful if he actually was doing research on the Mark. Also, having Dean so close to his real research is fraying Sam's already frayed nerves. As a solution, Sam temporarily allocates him to the adjacent table, arguing that it gives them more surface area to spread their findings on.

Sam thinks it's likely that he's going to die of a heart attack before he finds the answer he's looking for and it will all be Dean's fault.

He has this weird habit of sneaking up behind Sam and breathing down the back of his neck, while waiting for Sam to notice him. To be fair, Sam shouldn't say he's sneaking and he doesn't breathe down his neck per se, he just hovers by really close and silent like a wraith. Sam thinks Dean thinks he's being polite by not verbally announcing his presence. He usually interrupts to show Sam something he finds that he thinks is interesting or, on the rare occasion, to get an update on Sam's research.

Sam has taken to sitting at an angle at his table with his true research books on his lap and some nonsense ancient tattoo book on the table in front of him, it's ridiculously juvenile.

Sometimes he wonders if this is what a bomb disposal specialist feels like, just waiting for the day when one wrong move will make it all blow up in his face.

And there it is, this warm tingling feeling, not unlike the draft, gently gusting across his nape. Attempting to calm the spike in his pulse rate Sam straightens his back. Once again thanking teenage rebellion for getting him into to the habit of having long hair as it gives him an extra curtain of privacy. He slides the chair he's sitting on under the table to remove the book on his lap completely from sight.

"What is it Dean?" Turning to look at him, Dean looks like he is practically bubbling with suppressed excitement. "Did you find something?"

"I think this is it, Sammy," and Sam can't help but feel a twinge of something where he thinks his heart might be. Its been so long since he's seen Dean this happy. He looks young again. "So I figured I've been looking at it from the wrong angle this whole time."

"How so?"

"I'm getting to that," Dean quickly grabs the seat next to Sam and places the red ancient looking book that Sam just realizes he had clutched to chest on top of the fake diversion book in front of Sam. "We've been mostly looking at how the Mark works and thinking of it like getting a tattoo removed, but what if we can just remove it as if it was never there to begin with." Dean's almost hopping in his seat, green eyes shinning bright.

"Like a reversal not a removal," and Sam wants to slap himself because how obvious is that.

"Read this," Dean says pointing to a paragraph at the bottom of the book.

Sam has to squint a little to read the fine print. Evidentially, all that late night reading is catching up to him, not that it will matter if he's successful in his endeavor.

**There is only one thing that can cleanse the uncleanable, break the unbreakable, move the unmovable, and change the unchangeable, an Act of God. All humans and lesser beings are subject to restraints such as death, curses, disease, and time. These limits do not extend to God, for they were created by Him. If one was able to harness this power, this Act of God, there would be no limit to what is possible or impossible. Extracting the power would grant the person God-like ability for a limited time.**

The passage goes on to say how in theory one would harness an Act of God and use it for their own gain, cautioning that it would be a one time deal unless they of course had multiple Acts of God, or God himself, which they both know would not happen anytime this millennium.

You could hear a pin drop with the tense silence as Dean waits with abated breath for Sam's response.

But Sam is lost. Deep in his own thoughts, he can no longer see the words written on the page in front of him.

It's not possible.

There's no way it is this easy, but here it is... right here.

Not for one moment does Sam think to use this information to abandon his plans and just remove the mark from Dean. He's too far gone, looking ahead to his future in the past.

For the first time since this idea was implanted in Sam's head by Tina's words, he allows himself to silently breathe the words, "time travel".

In the back of his mind he knows Dean is waiting for him to say something to acknowledge his finding and Sam can barely pull it together to say, "wow Dean this is crazy... but how are we going to find an Act of God? The fulgurite we found the last time was the only authentic known Act that we could find and we used it all up to bind Death."

"I don't know Sam, but if there was one, there has to be more, right?" He looks so hopeful.

Sam can't afford to feel guilty, not when he's so close. He might not have an Act of God and the fulgurite might have very well been the last authentic one, but he has something just as good, maybe even better.

"Yeah Dean, if it's out there we'll find it." He offers his most heartfelt smile, dimples and all.

When Dean laughs and hugs him whispering, "thank you," he refuses to feel guilty. He refuses even if he does hug Dean back tighter and longer than normal.


	3. Chapter 3: Acquire

**Personal Disclaimer: I am writing this story to become a better writer. This is 80% practice and 20% therapy. I am thankful for those who are on this journey with me. Even though this is for my own gain hopefully you guys can get something good out of this too:).**

**A/N: Chapter is mostly told in flashbacks and past memories. Was originally supposed to be one Chapter, buts was waaaaaaaay too long and too intense, so I split it into two :) (sorry to guest who wanted longer chapters. Hopefully the next one will be in the 5,000 word range). There will possibly be a delay with the next chapter. Things will start to roll and I'm going to have to dig DEEP.**

**A/N: Also I'd like to add that I will be taking FULL advantage of my artistic license from here on out.**

**Chapter 3 **

**Acquire**

_**Flashback**_

_"This is not a theological issue, it's Strategic. With God's help we can win," Castiel says in a strong voice, a hint of annoyance slipping through._

_"It's a pipe dream, Cass," says Dean. He can't see a way through this situation without the whole world suffering as collateral damage. All he sees is a future of death and destruction. He sees the end. The apocalypse. _

_"I killed two angels this week. My brothers. I'm hunted. I rebelled and I did it-all of it- for you, and you failed. You and your brother destroyed the world, and I lost everything- for nothing. So keep you're opinions to yourself." Castiel has never sounded this angry and Sam can't understand how he sometimes forget that Castiel is not one of them, not human. He's an angel; Supernatural. A dangerous warrior._

_Dean takes a step back away from him. The expression on his face is one of alarm and surprise, and Sam thinks he's not the only one who forgot just what Castiel is. _

_Bobby, sitting in his wheelchair, speaks up from across his hospital room to break the sudden tension, "You didn't drop in just to tear us a new hole. What is it you want?"_

_"I did come for something," Castiel answers, still staring intently at Dean, "An amulet."_

_"An amulet? What kind?" Bobby ask. He's more alive than Sam's seen him since the incident that paralyzed him from the waist down. Sam feels relieved, because he knows if there's one person that can overcome something as life changing as being crippled, someone who can be strong enough to pull himself back together, it's Bobby._

_Castiel switches his gaze to Bobby and answers, "very rare, very powerful. It burns hot in God's presence. It'll help me find him."_

_"A-a God EMF?" And Sam can't keep his incredulity from showing. If the situation wasn't so dire, Sam might have laughed._

_"Well I don't know what you're talking about. I got nothing like that," Bobby says, looking to Castiel, a flame of curiosity lighting his eyes._

_"I know _you_ don't." Castiel reply's turning his piercing blue eyes back on Dean. Specifically towards Dean's chest where his pendent, a strange bronze metal, __horned, __sleeping face, on a corded black string, hangs over his heart._

_Sam had given it to Dean for Christmas when he was eight and Dean twelve. He had gotten the necklace from Bobby to be a Christmas present to their Dad. Bobby had told him it was real special. Sam had painstakingly spent time choosing the most colorful and funniest page of the newspaper's comic section__ to wrap his gift in__. Even though it was the first present he had ever had to wrap, he hadn't wanted to ask Dean for help. He had done the best job he could using tape, his carefully selected newspaper page, and his chubby fingers. Sam had spent over an hour making his wrapping perfect. He'd been so proud of himself. _

_Back then Sam was still naïve enough to believe their Dad when he said, "I'll be back in a couple of days, boys," and actually meant it. Naïve enough to believe that dad moved them around so much and left them alone so often, because he was something cool. A super secret agent spy; a James Bond. Even though every time he asked Dean what their dad did he always got the answer that dad was a travelling sales man selling "stuff", Sam always held onto the belief that dad was a hero. Thinking about it now, he wasn't that far off with his guess. _

_When Christmas day finally arrived without John showing neither head nor tail for what was coming up on two weeks now, Dean had tried to cover for dad... again. He had told Sam that John had stopped by in the middle of the night to drop off gifts for Sam, but Sam had known the truth as soon as he'd finished unwrapping the two gifts -he won't ever forget the princess wand and the Sapphire Barbie-, Dad never showed up. It was Dean who had __stolen gifts from someone else's house __to try and make up for John's A grade parenting, and it was Dean who had to give him the "monsters are real" talk that very same Christmas. It had only felt too right to give Dean the necklace instead, and Sam knows he was right, because Dean had worn it everyday since then, only taking it off to shower._

_Dean hesitantly follows Castiel's gaze to his amulet. "What this?"_

_"May I borrow it?" Everyone in the room can tell Castiel asking is just a formality._

_"No!" Dean replies without hesitation. His voice sounding like gravel, rumbling and sharp._

_"Dean, give it to me." Castiel hardens his gaze and the tension in the room ratchets up to a whole new level where Sam has to lock his knees to keep them from folding right under him __like a stack of cards__. _

_Sam can hear every beat of his heart as everyone in the room waits for Dean to do something._

_"...All right, I guess," and as slowly as he can, like moving through molasses, Dean removes his necklace and reluctantly passes it to Castiel. Giving him a last warning as he does, "don't lose it."_

**~~~~~~~Present~~~~~~~**

Sam remembers being killed had hurt. Not like when Jake had done it, but different.

It had happened a few months after Dean had given Castiel his necklace.

Contemplating the differences, Sam thinks maybe it was the fact that Jake had stabbed Sam in the back. He never got the chance to see it coming, didn't have anytime to prepare. All he had felt was a sharp burst of pain then cold. So cold as to have thought that he had never been warm before.

The second time, Sam got to experience the full effect of being murdered:

Sam waking up to see both Roy and Walt, fellow hunters, quietly and stealthy entering into the motel room where he and Dean were sleeping, ski mask down tight and shotguns pointed, had made him feel terror like a live thing. It felt like a foreign entity had suddenly taken up shop right under his skin, growing rapidly like poisonous mold.

He vividly remembers the mind numbing eternity it took for Dean to wake up and realize the situation. The ridiculous back and forth. Knowing what was inevitably going to happen even as he tried to reason and plead for his life. The uncertainty of Dean's fate. Sam felt it all in radiant technicolor.

Then came the booming blast of the shotgun like a thunder clap. Sam had felt every single pellet rip straight through his chest and out his back, tearing through his sinew like his insides were made of gossamer. It was fire, heat, and _burning_.

He thinks back to when he realized he wasn't actually having a weird dream about being eleven and eating Thanksgiving dinner at Stephanie's house. It was the exact moment when Dean walked right into the living room, face weighed down with a heavy scowl, and no one but Sam noticed.

Learning that both he and Dean had died and ended up in heaven of all places had made it hard to swallow down manic laughter that was threatening to bubble up and over, and he can barely manage to swallow the bile when he had realized that heaven was made up of a persons most cherished memories and Dean wasn't present in any of his.

Having his first "real" Thanksgiving dinner with his middle school crush and her "normal" family being a top memory should have warned him that his day was about to -as impossible as it had seemed at the time- only go down hill from there.

Sam's next top beloved memory was of the two weeks he'd spent by himself after running away in Flagstaff, Arizona. Sam had lived in an abandoned shack with a stray dog he had found and named Bones.

At the time, reliving the memory had made Sam feel genuinely happy. He remembered being on his own, being "free", and it was great to see Bones again, a golden furred mixed lab. He had tried to rationalize this to Dean then, but the look on Dean's face had stopped him cold.

Sam hadn't needed special mind reading powers to see exactly what Dean was thinking. Dean's first best memory had been of him and Sam lighting fireworks in an empty field on the fourth of July when they were kids. In comparison to Dean's memories, how Dean felt about Sam running away from him to spend time with a dog while living like a peasant being one of his best memories, didn't need to be verbally expressed. Dean's expressions told it all.

Sam remembers the exchanged that followed:

"Wow," Dean had said looking stunned.

"What?" Sam had honestly been baffled by Dean's reaction. If all his plans work out, as soon as Sam makes it back to the past, he's going to slap himself on principle alone.

"You don't remember, do you? I looked _everywhere_ for you. I thought you were dead! And when Dad came home-" Dean never spoke about what happened after Flagstaff, but when Sam grudgingly came back home after running out of money, Dean's arm was broken and his nose crooked. Sam had never thought to ask why, and maybe deep down it was because he already knew.

"I-I never thought about it like that." Sam had said feeling ashamed.

"Forget it," and Dean had walked away. No doubt the memory was too much for him to stand.

Having Dean be dragged along with him on his journey through "Samland", had made him feel like a sadist and masochist all rolled up in one.

But as Winchester luck would have it, the next memory was of the night Sam had ditched Dean and dad to go to Stanford subsequently estranging himself from them both for nearly four years. At least Sam had had enough tact to down play the memory and luckily Zachariah had chosen then to interrupt before the real fun times of the horrible memory for Dean could begin. Dean always said that was the worst night of his life.

Finding the angel Joshua in heaven had turned out to be such a massive waste of time, it was almost counter productive. All they had learned from the experience was that God did not want to be found and therefore wouldn't be, powerful amulet or not.

When they had been returned to their miraculously hole-riddled free bodies by Joshua, Sam had nearly convinced himself it was all a dream. He would have continued to believe that if it wasn't for the blood splattered beds and walls of the motel, and more importantly the dull look in Dean's green eyes like rotting moss.

Dean had promptly called Castiel and told him to call off his search for God.

Castiel had been angry and upon returning Dean's necklace he had called the amulet worthless.

Dean had been understandably upset by the stomach churning turn of events. After all they had been through, finding out that the "good guys", fellow hunters, angels, and God, wanted them dead, were indifferent, or couldn't care less, respectively, and were gunning for them just as much as the "bad guys" was disheartening. As Dean was exiting the motel room after packing their bags, he had tossed the amulet into the trash bin by the door, echoing Castiel's sentiment.

Of course Sam had been upset too and understood why Dean had discarded it, but he couldn't help but feel a bit hurt and upset that Dean would throw it away so easily. It was a present after all. But Sam had no right to tell Dean anything approaching the subject of selfishness and or disappointment. Not after the dog and pony show that just happened in heaven.

So Sam had quietly retrieved it from the garbage after Dean had walked out and placed it in his bag. Even if God couldn't be found, Bobby had told him it was special and Castiel had said it was very powerful and rare. Something like that shouldn't be lying around. And a small part of Sam hoped that one day maybe Dean would want it back, too.

Needless to say, it was one hell of a day.

Sitting in his room in the bunker with the door locked, Sam looks down at the tiny amulet in his hand. He doesn't even know the number of times he's tried to give it back to Dean, but it's never been the right time. Sam thinks maybe he was waiting to become a better brother, someone Dean could be proud of. Maybe he thought if he waited long enough, a time would come when Dean wouldn't remember the first and only time they went to heaven. Maybe he was hoping for Dean to bring up the topic of the amulet first. Who knows?

The closest he'd come to giving it back had been only months ago after the hunt at the all girls school, but after the play had ended, he had overheard Marie asking Dean why he had thrown the amulet away and Sam had halted his approach to hear Dean's response.

Dean had answered that he didn't need a necklace to tell him how he felt about his brother and Sam had smiled feeling hope. Then Marie had given Dean the fake wooden replica version of the amulet that had been used as a prop in the play and Dean had smiled.

Sam had stood there half hidden behind the red curtain, the horned amulet digging into his palm emotions conflicted.

He had lost his opportunity and now it felt like it was too late. Especially as Dean seemed so happy to hang Marie's literally worthless amulet on the rearview mirror of Baby.

It stung.

He doesn't know where Bobby had gotten it from and he highly doubts Bobby would have given it to him if he had known just how _special_ it really was.

Sam doesn't know anything about the amulet beyond it being very rare, very powerful, and it's apparent connection to God, but he's going to find out.


	4. Chapter 4: Retrieve

**PLEASE READ!**

**A/N: OMG guys I've been sick, strained a back muscle, and had no internet for a week (not in that order) so this is overdue. Also, it took forever to edit and I really didn't like how it was at first. It took me longer to edit this than it did to write it. I kept having to go back to give it depth. Anyway, I hope you like it and PLEASE! for all those that read and don't leave a review, PLEASE! do!. It takes a second. I want to know how it made you feel. You can even tell me if it didn't make you feel anything! You can also comment on where you'd like to see the story go from here or better yet, can you guess where/when Sam is going to end up in the past? Do you know what moment he's taking about that he's going to change?!**

**A/N: Happy Equinox Day! **

**.**

**.**

**Chapter 4: Retrieve**

Time is flying and before Sam knows it another week has passed. He's looked through what feels like all of the dusty books on every shelf in the Men of Letter's library. Sam has checked through what feels like 100 percent of the relevent titles and 99.9 percent of all the irrelevant ones; no doubt the vast majority of which is probably some Harvard scholar's wet dream, but a nightmare to Sam.

And now here he is, sitting here in a dusty old nook in the library surrounded on three sides by tall shelves; his own forgotten dead end.

Hidden in one of the more dusty corners of the library, Sam had found an old rusty book cart filled with books undoubtedly waiting patiently for their turn to be reshelved for what was most likely going on 60 years now. Sam had pushed the cart with its horribly loud and squeaky wheels into his little hidey hole at the back of the library. Boxing himself in.

He feels bad hiding from Dean, but he can't look him in the eye anymore whenever he asks how the search for the fulgurite is going. Sam can't stomach the lying anymore and he needs this time alone. He needs space. The faster he can find answers and get this done, the faster he can get back to being the brother Dean deserves. The brother that saves him and doesn't lie straight to his face.

Calluses has formed on his finger tips from all the typing and flipping pages he's been doing. Through all his years of handling weapons and hunting, Sam can't remember a time when his hands have been this rough. Thankfully he has never been the vain type, that's all Dean.

Still he can't help but look forward to when his hands are young again. But for now the rough edges of his fingers make a soft _rasping_ sound as he flips through the pages of the first book on the cart. The sound is mildly soothing as he sits on the floor and settles his back against the shelf behind him, falling into an easy rhythm.

It's been at least 40 minutes and Sam's back is starting to throb from the constant pressure of the shelf digging into the small of his back. He's browsed through 9 books from the cart already and he's beginning to resign himself to the fact that there just might not be any information here. He's not looking forward to the setbacks that would come about if he has to wing harnessing the amulet's power Winchester style.

He's just grabbed his tenth book from the cart when he hears it. The heavy uneven booted steps of Dean approaching from at least two aisles over.

He would recognize Dean's bowlegged walk anywhere.

Arching his back away from the lower shelf in a long stretch, Sam slowly rises leaning back on the shelf behind him for support while moving the old cart to the side. He may be hiding, but that doesn't mean he has to make it obvious to Dean that that's what he's actually doing.

Now that he's standing, his legs feels like there is a tiny army of ants carrying pins and needles stabbing him everywhere.

Hearing Dean walking along the next book aisle over, Sam takes a quick glance at the title of the tenth book that's still clutched in his hand, and almost breaks his neck doing a double take.

**_'Sacred Ancient Artifacts'_**

Feeling his eyes grow wide Sam experiences a brief moment of absolute blind panic. He can hear Dean's steady approach and there is the potential answer to all his prayers in his hand. Not knowing what else to do, he shoves the book, cobwebs and all, into the back waistband of his jeans, pulling his red and brown plaid shirt over it. Just in time too, as Dean rounds the corner.

Deans wearing his customary layers. An olive green t-shirt with an unbuttoned grey shirt over it. He's wearing the same worn-out pair of jeans he's owned for the past 7 years now, with the same hole above the left knee that he put there 6 and a half years ago. He looks good, or maybe just happy.

Dean pauses looking at Sam's little setup of books and cart, a small frown between his brows before his expression clears and he continues forward stopping a few feet away to look up at Sam.

"You hungry?" And without waiting for a reply rushes forward with, "I'm hungry."

"I could eat." Sam's reply is followed by an awkwardly long pause. Sam doesn't know what else he's expected to add to that.

"...Right." Dean fidgeting, shifting from one foot to the other. "OK, I'm making spaghetti... Hey Sam, 'member when we were kids and I'd use those cheap 50 cent cans of spaghettiOs and burger meat and whip us up a meal in like 5 seconds? That used to be awesome." He's grinning, eyes focused on Sam's.

Sam doesn't remember those meals of Dean's being so awesome but he tries smiling back. He's not sure if he's succeeding or not, but it looks like its leaning more towards the not side if the smile fading from Dean's lips is anything to go by. The book tucked under his shirt is starting to dig into his back. Pressing right into the sore spot left by the shelf. The book feels like it's pressing into his brain, demanding his immediate attention. His fingers curled at his sides start to twitch.

"Yeah, Dean. I'll go buy us some beer." Sam knows he sounds distracted, but he cant help it; he is.

"Nah, that's ok I got a six-pack of El Sol chilled and waiting." His smile is back on, hopeful and bright.

"Dean, you know I don't like that crap," and maybe it didn't come out as light hearted as he meant it to be. It's too late to take it back and Dean is deflating already. Sam's wasting precious time that could be spent reading that book instead of having pointless small talk with Dean in a dim corner of the library.

Sam wonders when it became this awkward talking to his own brother, but he brushes that thought aside. He'll make it up to Dean when he gets back. When he gets back, he promises they can have all the small talk in the world. In fact, they'll spend hours lying in some motel room with one of Dean's lame pop culture movies playing in the background while they fill the space between their beds with talk. Fill in all the spaces they missed. It will be enough to fill-in the four years of silence Sam left when he ran away to college.

Sam shoots Dean a genuine smile to soften the harsh words, but Dean's already looking away and it falls flat.

"Right," Dean says.

Sam doesn't reply. Anything he says will probably make things worst and beside he's in a hurry. Instead he steps forward, walking past Dean as briskly as he can without looking like he's running away. He exits the library and into the main war room. Making a left, he heads into the hall leading towards the kitchen where he can see a pot of water boiling on the stove. Continuing past the kitchen, he heads to the door at the end of the hall leading to the garage. Taking the stairs down two at a time he walks past the mint condition classics cars and heads to the impala.

He has a brief moment of shame where he considers that he is a grown man of 31 years old and here he is reduced to hiding out in the back of the impala with Dean thinking he's on a beer run. He shouldn't have to feel guilty about saving Dean.

Sliding into the backseat and removing the book, Sam locks the doors and tries to find a comfortable position. Which is hard considering he's 6'5.

Curling into a half sitting half laying position Sam lays the book flat on the seat, rubbing the thin layer of dust off of it with his calluses before opening it to read.

* * *

.

The book is a goldmine. There is a crude drawing of the amulet and three full pages of history. Which is about three whole pages more than he had expected.

It's true name is the Amulet of Sumer. Sumer was the first civilization of mankind. It was started more than 5000 years ago. The story goes that God used to dwell with the first people, but as time past He grew bored with their ways and decided to venture away. The amulet was a parting gift so the people would not feel alone or abandoned. God placed a part of his presence in the amulet so the Sumerians would always feel Him near. The amulet provided both a measure of protection and comfort. It was also meant to be a calling card. In times of trouble the people would use the amulet to call God to them, or in the event that they needed to find Him the amulet would glow and shine the closer they got.

Obviously Sam isn't going to try to summon God; His power from the amulet yes, but not God Himself. If Cass couldn't use it to find Him, and he's an angel, he's not going to trouble himself by thinking about what the results of him trying to use the amulet to summon God would entail. Besides he doesn't want to risk the chance of it working and having the amulet be taken way from him.

Sam doesn't know how long he spends rereading the pages, but by the time he makes his way back up through the bunker into the kitchen, the lights are off and theres only one lamp on in the main room of the library.

Under the light of the lamp is a single plate of spaghetti and meat sauce. Sam doesn't need to touch it to know it's cold.

Hearing his stomach growl Sam is startled by his sudden wave of hunger. The last time he had eaten was breakfast.

He feels the first tendrils of guilt creeping and curling it's way into his stomach, but tells himself it's just the hunger pains. And if he sit right at the table and eats every single last noodle and every drop of cold sauce, well the kitchen with the microwave was just too far away.

* * *

.

For something so powerful, it's remarkably simple.

According to the red book Dean had found,**_ 'An Essay On Principalities and Powers'_**, the actual spell to harness the power from an Act of God requires only a few ingredients.

Blessed thistle and cedar for purification, chamomile to soothe, dandelion leaf to summon, Mandrake as an amplifier, and peppermint to stabilize. A drop of his blood to bind the temporary power to himself. It's so simple Sam thinks he probably could have winged the harnessing spell himself. All of these ingredients can be found either right outside the front door of the bunker, or within the bunker's laboratory itself.

It's the last two ingredients that has him a bit worried: Bark from an Elder tree for agelessness and timeless magic and a single Natal Plum Carissa flower, for resilience, endurance, and immortality. Sam's never seen an Elder tree nor does he even know what a Carissa flower looks like.

Thankfully Google yields positive results.

Elder trees are native in some regions of America. Mostly they are found east of the Rocky Mountains. Which is great, because as fate would have it, that's right where they are located at the bunker, in Lebanon, Kansas.

Unfortunately Natal Plum trees on the other hand, aren't native to the continent. They are native to northern South Africa and Sam's not sure how easy it would be to justify going on a trip to South Africa to Dean, but Sam didn't get that full ride to Stanford University while moving to five different schools a year by thinking inside the box.

Typing in another quick search into his laptop, Sam finds what he's looking for. The Florida Botanical Gardens has a single Natal Plum tree growing in their garden and wouldn't you know, they tree blooms Carissa flowers all year round. Sam pushes his chair back away from his laptop, leaning back, hands clasped behind his head. He can't help but laugh out loud at the ease in which all of this is going. It's like maybe he's meant to succeed.

He ignores the quiet voice in the back of his head that whispers, in a voice that sounds suspiciously like John Winchester's, that this is too easy. That the law of equivalent exchange has always ruled the Winchester family with a heavy hand. That for all good things something just as bad or worst will happen. It whispers in that stern military voice that he has to start thinking about the backlash of this, the consequences.

And like always when John was still alive, Sam quietly whispers back to the voice to "_go to hell_". He's not going to let his own mind turn against him now. Not when he's so close and everything is practically being gift wrapped and placed oh so gently into his hands.

This _won't_ be another Trials screw-up. There's no Dean telling him to stop, to screw the consequences and give up, saying it's ok to fail.

Not this time.

He's going to finish what he's started.

All he needs to do is focus on completing the next step.

Everything else will fall into place.

* * *

.

"Hey, I found something!"

Sam sees Dean opening his mouth to reply and he can't help but flinch minutely. He knows Dean's going to ask if it's about the fulgurite. He can't deal with that right now. He has a plan. Quickly cutting in before any sound can come out, Sam continues on, "It's a hunt. It's close by, too. Figured we could check it out."

They are once again sitting at one of the main large tables in the library, the one that sometimes doubles as their dining table.

Dean's sitting opposite Sam, a tall pile of precariously stacked books next to him. From the amount of notes he has been writing, Sam thinks he has enough pages to write a dissertation. Dean has always underplayed his intelligence.

"Here look," Sam says, spinning his laptop around to face Dean.

Sam's not one to boast, but there's something to be said about finding a graveyard with an elder tree in it, that just so happens to be hunted by a vengeful spirit all within a 2 hours drive of them.

Dean is silent as he reads the article on the computer screen.

"... Sam, this woman... Kathleen Briggs, her husband died a week ago of a heart attack... and she had a dream about him," he lifts his eyes from the laptop and looks directly at Sam still speaking slowly as if to a small child, "...He was 80."

"Dean, keep reading," and Sam can't help but roll his eyes a bit. "The wife is claiming he was mistreated and murdered at the nursing home. Her husband told her that in the dream. And come on man, we've looked into hunts on less information than that," reaching over Sam closes the lid on the laptop untill he hears it snap close, "We've been cooped up in here for weeks serching for an Act of God, and I know it's important, believe me I do, but we need to get out. Get back to hunting just to clear our heads. Ok? For me, please?" That's a new low, even for Sam. Using Dean's inability to say no to him against him, doubled with the puppy dog eyes, and with a dash of earnest face.

Sam may have overplayed the vengeful spirit part a bit and if Dean had continued reading the article onto the next page, it would have gone on to say that Mrs. Briggs had a history of mental illness, but in the extremely unlikely event of this case being legit, Sam knows he's going to be doing her a favor. Besides, there's nothing wrong with taking preventative measures. Either way, the guy's dead already. It's not going to hurt him to be salted and burned. He'll just be... deader.

* * *

.

Holdrege, Nabraska is only an hour and a half drive away from the bunker, exactly 90 miles. It's the epitome of small town America, where everybody knows everybody's grandma's cat's name.

Going in as FBI agents would just be ridiculous, instead they decide to go in as Paranormal Experts offering free sprirtual readings and cleanses for the recently deceased.

Kathleen Briggs is a sweet old woman, even if her eyes are a little wild.

She invites them right in for muffins and iced tea.

Dean's in her lace and soft floral print living room, setting up the supplies they'll need for the "spiritual reading" while Sam offers to help her get the refreshments in the kitchen. Sam cares about his elders as much as the next person, but the entire house smells like cat lady without the cats.

With one hand laden with a plate of banana muffins, Sam lays the other gently on Kathleen's shoulder. With the most sincere-sympathy-for-the-victim/I-affirm-you face Sam can manage, he leans in closer to her.

"Mrs. Briggs-"

"Kathleen, dear. Please," She looks flustered to have such a tall handsome young man so close to her. Backing up slightly, Sam thinks he might need to dial down the _smolder_.

"Kathleen, we're here to help you and your husband. My brother and I are experts and we will get Mr. Briggs to rest in peace, but in order to do that we're going to need your full cooperation. It doesn't matter how crazy it may sound, we've heard it all before. You tell us everything ok?" He pats her twice on the shoulder before releasing her gently.

"Yes, Tommy would have wanted peace and justice," Her eyes take on a glazed look as she leaves the kitchen with a tray of tall glasses filled with iced tea.

Sam gives himself a mental pat on the back. It's show time.

~/~

By the time they leave the Briggs house they have enough knowledge to conclude that there are demons in the attic, some sort of specter in the basement, nearly every household appliance is possessed by spirits, and yes, dear old Tommy is indeed haunting poor Kathleen. Also the neighbor Donna might be a witch.

Sam and Dean spent the entire morning walking back and forth repeatedly throughout the house smoking fake incense bags while chanting and holding a real EMF meter that did not so much as give one bleep. Cleansing each room of "evil" multiple times until Kathleen was satisfied. All the while Sam would frequently fall into a "trancelike state", not unlike Whoopi in the movie Ghost, reassuring Kathleen as "Tommy" that no, he was not murdered by the nursing staff and yes, he just wanted to drop by to see her again before he moved on more permanently into the light.

By the time they leave late afternoon Sam's feet are killing him and they bearly manage to make it back into the impala before they look at each other and dissolve into laughter. Sam really doesn't know how he did all of that with a straight face.

"W-worst hunt ever!" Dean can barely get the words out through gasping breaths.

Sam's stomach is in pain from the cramped muscles caused buy his incessant laughing, but he can't stop laughing and he can't help staring. Dean looks free. For the first time in months, he's unburdened, if only for a moment. It's stunning to see and Sam wishes he had a camera. It feels good to laugh like this. Sam feels a weight lift off his shoulders. The air in his lung feels lighter and everything in that moment feels right.

~/~

That night they head to the grave yard to burn Thomas Briggs simply for the heck of it and they are already there so might as well. And hey maybe Kathleen was right. He might not be haunting her now, but who's to say he won't.

The body is absolutely putrid. Mr. Briggs hasn't been dead that long and his body isn't all nice and neat dry bones, yet. Still, they've been doing this long enough to not get sick off of the smell of necrotizing flesh.

The only nice thing about fresh bodies is the loosely packed dirt on the graves making it an easy job to dig up. Sam lets Dean do most of the digging.

After salt and fuel is poured into the hole, Dean lights up the corpse. Honestly, they ought to buy stocks in paper matches with the way they go through the stuff.

It's been a long day and Sam knows they're both exhausted and if they still want to make it back to the bunker tonight maybe Dean should head back to the car and rest. Sam can repack the grave after the fire goes out.

He tells this to Dean and for a second some unknown emotion flashes across Dean's eyes. To Sam, it was probably a trick of the firelight still burning Mr. Briggs to ash.

Either way it's gone when he looks back at Dean.

Through the darkness Sam can see the Elder tree from the corner of his eye.

Dean agrees and leaves. Sam waits calmly for an eternal 30 minutes before repacking the grave. Then, he makes his move.

The tree is only about 80 yards away and Sam covers the distance swiftly and silently.

The tree is surprisingly short and Sam knows if he jumps he can probably see over the top of it. Despite its height it looks very old. Its branches and trunk twisted with time and memory. Its base is surrounded by small shrubs.

He carefully approaches the tree, stooping low and reaching out to feel the rough bark with his hands. Feeling for a good spot to cut into. He doesn't want to hurt the tree by removing a too large piece of bark, but better too much than too little. Regardless of how gentle he's being the tree still bleeds sap as soon as his pocket knife presses into it.

It will heal.

Mission accomplished.

Sam heads back to the car to wake Dean.

* * *

.

It's another nine days before Sam puts the next step of his plan into action. It's easy to convince Dean that there's a fulgurite exhibit opening in the Museum of Natural History in Florida, that's worth checking out. It's easy, because it's true.

The drive is long, but pleasant, and they cover the distance quickly by taking turns driving.

As soon as they arrive in Gainesville, they check into the first motel they see. By the time they're done securing the room with salt lines they are starving. Fortunately, like it is with most motel's, there's a diner close within walking distance. From there it's only too easy for Sam to add a little extra something into Dean's drink to get him knocked out cold for the night.

Dean may wear lots of layers in some misguided big brother attempt to look bulkier than Sam, but in reality he's not. He's not small. Being 6'1 isn't anything to scoff at, but still, Sam doesn't break a sweat lifting a drugged, half asleep Dean over the threshold of the motel room and carefully putting him to bed after helping him undress.

"I'll make it up to you", Sam promises before laying Dean's cover over him on the bed furthest from the door, tucking him in, "soon. I promise."

~/~

Breaking into the Botanical Gardens is a cake walk and locating the small tree, more like shrub now that he's looking at it, is effortless. It's planted right by the pond smack in the center of the Gardens. Even if he hadn't known where it was, he wouldn't have had a problem locating it anyway. The pictures online don't do the Carissa justice. Its blooms glow bright under the moonlight. The star shaped flower is whiter than snow. It's five petals lush and mildly fragrant. He almost feels horribly unworthy to desecrate the plant by removing such a pure looking flower from such a beautiful tree. Almost.

The flower gives way with no resistance and feels delicate and small in the palm of his large hands, but strangely heavy. He has a brief thought of Frodo and the ring and snorts a laugh. Opening his bag, he removes the small plastic carryout container that he got from the diner and carefully places the flower in it. The flower should be fine as he added a little bottled water to the container before sealing it tight and placing it back into his shoulder bag. He leaves as quickly and silently as he came.

Dean's still asleep when he gets back, and Sam transfers the container with his flower to the bottom of his duffle bag.

He changes his clothes as quietly as he can, praying the little dose of drugs doesn't wear off yet. Laying under the covers he turns onto his right side untill he's facing Dean asleep in the other bed. His mind is strangely silent. The expanse between his bed and Dean's seem to be ever widening and the floor space between them a bottomless pit. Extending out his left hand, Sam thinks if he reaches out far enough he can get to Dean. Fold him and compress him until Sam can hide him in the palm of his hand. Then no one would try to take him away again. Not the angels, not the demons, and certainly not the Mark. He'd just be _Dean, _Sam's big brother, mother, and father. He goes to sleep with his hand hanging into the empty space between them.

~/~

Sam wakes to the smell of hot coffee and bacon. Dean's sitting at the small two seater table near the window. Two cups of coffee in front of him and a greasy paper bag.

He waits for Sam to get dress and sit before opening the bag to hand Sam a bacon and egg wrap. Then slides his coffee over to him.

"Here's breakfast. What's today's game plan?"

Sam notices that Dean doesn't have a wrap for himself just his plain black coffee, but he doesn't question it.

Sam's ravenous, last night he was too nervous about his deception to eat his meal at the diner, and takes a huge bite before he can form a response. He chews and thinks over the days agenda.

"Let's head out at noon. The fulgurite exhibit opens at one. We can use the extra time to check out security incase we'll need to break-in tonight."

"What are we going to do for," Dean pauses checking his watch, "five hours?"

"uh, theres the Lochloosa Wildlife Conservation Area 'bout 30 minutes away from the museum, but it might not be your thing."

"It could be my thing. I say let's go." Dean gets up finishing off his coffee and tossing the empty cup into the trash.

Sam doesn't know whether to take him seriously or not, but he gets up and grabs his jacket anyway.

"You're not going to like it, Dean."

Dean already has his boots on and is standing by the door, propping it open with his foot, keys in hand.

"Get the lead out, Sammy!"

~/~

The Conservation was nice, everything else was weird.

Sam's still in shock that Dean did it all with only one snarky comment. It's a little bit suspicious, but he figures since he's been spending so much time being distant lately, this might be Dean trying to get them to reconnect. Whatever the reason, it worked. It was nice to just hang out and be normal brothers.

It reminds him of when they first started hunting together again. Sam thinks it's good practice for when he goes back. Back then their relationship with lighter, more fun based and open. Getting used to how they were together before it all went to hell (literally) could help him act more naturally with Dean when he gets back.

They're in the museum now after scoping the place out, waiting in line for the exhibit to be open.

Sam hasn't come up with a plan yet about what he's going to do if they're able to get a real fulgurite here. He's not too worried, because he's way ahead of Dean in terms of readiness to do the spell.

Sam has everything he's going to need. All he has to do now is wait for the right time.

He's decided to do the spell on the night of the new moon, as it's known to be the strongest night for spiritual energy, and at the darkest hour.

If he's doing this, he's going to go all the way in and not half-cocked.

The doors to the exhibit open and Sam and Dean enter after showing their tickets to the attendant standing by the door.

The exhibit is in a wide open white room with glass showcases along the walls. In the center of the room is an 18 foot statue of a fulgurite. Directly in front of it is a small podium on top of a flat platform. There's small crowd gathering there as a museum employee steps up unto the platform to begin what will no doubt be a riveting lecture on the physics of fulgurite.

But Sam's focus is elsewhere. Dean's already halfway across the marble floor to the first glass showcase on the other side of the room, EMF in hand. It's been rigged to pick up subtler forms of electromagnetic frequencies.

Sam uses his longer stride to catch up just as Dean reaches the first case.

Inside the glass case, is beach sand with an exhibition label filled with information about the merits of sand quartz. The next case is just a clear sheet of glass with the biggest piece of quarts crystal laying on top of it that Sam has ever seen. The following exhibits are filled with more types of sand and colorful crystals varying from interesting to dull. It's not too long before they finally see the first fulgurite... except it's a fake. According to the information label artificial fulgurite is created by passing over 2400 volts of electricity through sand.

Sam stares hard at each glass showcase of artificial fulgurite. Each with their own $100 LED backlight. They're all extremely delicate looking and beautiful, but they could have looked like turds for all Sam cares. He keeps his eyes laser focused on each case, refusing to blink. If he loses focus for one second, he knows his eyes are going drift over to look at Dean's face and he can't face whatever expression he might find there. If he doesn't look, then he can't feel guilty.

The last case of the exhibit has real fulgurite in it. Fractures and shards not one piece larger than 2 inches. The EMF is as silent as they are.

Dean doesn't say anything while turning off his EMF before placing it into his pocket and walking straight out the building. He doesn't look back to see if Sam is following.

The ride back to the motel is still cloaked in silence and Sam finally builds up the courage to look at Dean.

What he sees there leaves him nonplussed. Dean's not angry or depressed. Sam had expected devastation for the least. Instead Dean's expression is serene, peaceful even. And right at that moment as Sam opens his mouth to say something, though he's not sure what, Dean looks over at him from the driver's seat and reaches out his hand. Clasping Sam on the knee he says, "It's ok, Sam," and Sam gets a strange surreal feeling that somewhere along the way he missed something vital. Like Dean's reading from the script of some play Sam's never even heard of yet he's left unknowingly playing the main character. He's missed his cue and doesn't know the lines. There's a deeper conversation going on here. Some sublevel code that no one told him about. Dean removes his hand and places it back on the wheel. Sam's left swallowing his words. Dean doesn't really talk again. First stopping to pack up their bags from the motel and then speaking only to take his driving shifts and order food at drive-throughs' on the 20 hour drive back to the bunker. And once they arrive back to the bunker it's just a simple, "goodnight, Sammy."

* * *

The days pass by until the night of the new moon, in a blur. Dean doesn't bring up the "f" word at all. There are no hunts and the bunker seems to be trapped in a strange sort of limbo.

Sam's done some more research this time for magic protection circles. If something goes wrong he doesn't want to take out half the bunker and possibly Dean with him.

He finds a complicated barrier circle that makes the Key of Solomon look like a child's drawing. It takes him an entire week to chalk the design onto the smooth stone floor of his bedroom. He's thankful Dean never ventures into there.

It's after midnight and officially the 20th of March which also happens to be the spring equinox. He'll take any advantage he can get to boost the spiritual energy of the spell.

He's got everything prepared.

If all else fails, at least his room will smell nice from all the herbs if the spell doesn't explode and kill him first.

There are no words for the spell. Once the power is out it will bind itself to Sam temporally for a onetime use. He just has to think on what he wants to do, or really on when he wants to go.

Sam's has known when he wanted to go since the thought of time travel first entered his head. There's one moment in time where everything went down hill. And Sam has always regretted his decision regarding that night.

He's going to do what he should have done a long time ago, right then and there, and he's always blamed himself for not making the right choice that night, for not changing everything. He blames that one moment of weakness for every horrible thing that happened to him and Dean.

Sam checks his watch and it's 12:30am. Time to start.

He moves to sit cross-legged into the center of the magic circle where all of his ingredients are neatly laid out. The circle should activate once the spell starts. He already set up a small iron cauldron that he found in the laboratory and a portable hotplate he bought off of eBay some weeks ago.

There's no order in which to burn the items so Sam adds the purification stuff first. Then the chamomile, dandelion, Mandrake and finally the Elder bark in succession. He stirs it around with a metal pot spoon from the kitchen, before adding in the peppermint to stabilize everything.

The smokes starting to rise and Sam turns down the heat on the hotplate. He doesn't want to cook the ingredients, just heat it enough to smoke, like incense.

Sweat is starting to pool underneath his armpits and it's the stinky pungent adrenaline kind that burns his nostrils, and there's a fine tremor running through his hands. Sam's a little confused, because he doesn't feel excited or fearful. His mind is focus. It's his body that's betraying him.

When the caldron has a nice white soft smoke slowly rising from it, Sam picks up the plastic flower container and removes the Carissa. Its edges have started to wilt, but it still looks fresh, proving its resilience. His hands tremble as he gently lowers the flower into the smoked filled pot.

It's beginning to feel like it's 100 degrees in the room and Sam tries to steady his fingers enough to remove his over shirt. He uses the discarded shirt to wipe the back of his neck and face before twisting his torso and tossing it behind him onto his neatly made bed.

He'd taken to wearing the amulet under his clothes since finding out about it's possible use as an instrument of God. There would have been nothing worst than trying to find it when he needed it most. Sam knows how true the saying is that, "you can never find something when you need it," is. He wasn't going to be that person, not for this. Removing the amulet from around his neck, he holds it tightly.

He feels like Hermione with her time turner and yes he's read Harry Potter, except there will be no take backs. When he goes back, he will replace the consciousness of his younger self and the amulet will replace itself becoming useless.

Sam waits.

The darkest time will come between 1:00am to 1:07am so he needs to time this just right.

Its 12:55 and the smoke in the caldron has taken on a blue tint. It's no longer rising up over the sides of the cauldron. Instead it's like a swirling thick dense fog obscuring everything below the surface.

It's time.

Opening his pocket knife, Sam makes a small cut into the tip of his index finger and squeezes a single drop of blood onto the amulet. Then he slowly drops it into the pot. Watching as it's swallowed by the fog.

There's a moment where Sam wonders if he's doing the right thing, but he has to cut that thought straight off; its too late now anyway.

It's 1:01 and Sam sticks his hand into the pot to remove the amulet. It's freezing and feels like he sticking his hand into an icebox. Yet, when his fingers touch the amulet, it's warm.

The blood is gone from the amulet when he takes it out and there's a faint blue glow to it.

Sam turns off the hot plate and stands. He doubts the magic circle will hold if he burns down his room. Closing the warm amulet between his hands, hands clasp together as if in prayer, Sam closes his eyes in concentration.

Nothing is happening and it feels like forever has passed, but when Sam checks his watch, only a minute has gone by. He closes his eyes again and concentrates even harder.

At first, Sam thinks it's his body heat that's making the amulet feel warmer. Sam's always been know to run hot. But the more he concentrates the hotter it gets and when Sam opens his eyes again his hands are glowing blue.

There's a sudden bubble of excitement in his stomach and he would laugh if it wasn't for the fact that the amulet was becoming uncomfortably hot.

And it's right at that time that he hears it.

_knock. knock._

"Sam?"

That bubble of excitement transforms into a ball of lead and Sam couldn't answer even if he tried. The sudden spike of fear he feels, is like a shot of lightning shooting down his spine and shocking all of his extremities. It leaves him numb and tingling. Coupled that with the amulet now burning painfully hot into his hands and he is left without words. The only thought running through his mind, stuck on repeat like one of Dean's broken cassette tapes, is '_ohgodohgodohgodno.'_

_knock knock knock!_

"Sam! Sam, open up!"

Sam doesn't know what sound he just made. Something like a keening wail and honestly he doesn't care. He can't think much beyond the amulet. Which is burning hot like lava. The blue glow of it, now intensely bright, is creeping up like snakes over his arms to cover his shoulders. For one crazed moment he thinks the amulet is going to burn straight through his hands and then straight through the floor and down into the center of the earth. He doesn't know where he finds the will to keep holding on, but he does.

There's silences on the other side of the door before it's being kicked open, hinges splintering.

And there he is, Dean, standing in the doorway dressed like he's ready for a hunt, boots, jacket, jeans, and shirts. He takes three steps into the room before stopping abruptly. He frowns before looking down at the complex drawing of the circle. His expression morphing into one of understanding. He extends a hand out in front of him, feeling along the invisible wall looking like a mime.

Sam's confusion mostly distracts him from the pain and then he realizes it's the barrier that's stopping Dean from coming to him.

There's something wrong about what's happening and if Sam could just have a moment he'll figure it out. He expects Dean to start yelling, maybe throw a couple of punches. Instead, he's just standing there looking at Sam with one hand flat against the barrier and the other curled into a fist at his side. Sam's never seen that expression on his brother's face before, and for the life of him, he can't figure it out.

And then it hits him like a sudden slap to the face, Dean _knows_. Probably knew from the very beginning.

Sam can't wrap his mind around this. He needs _time_ goddamnit. He wants to start to yelling but that hot blue glow has now covered his entire body and is closing in around his head, until all he can see is Dean's face and his red rimed eyes. Right now the pain is not even a forethought in midst of this revelation.

Sam closes his eyes against the bright blue light crowding his vision. There's a ringing in his ears and what feels like cotton in his mouth. He's feeling submerged, like he's underwater, when the light and heat is suddenly gone.

When Sam opens his eyes again, he's still in his room with Dean standing outside the barrier. And for one blessed moment he feels relieved that it didn't work. He's about to smile and tell Dean that it's ok, but then he sees one tear roll from Dean's eye before he's mouthing the words, "I'm sorry," and before Sam could ask 'why', because why would Dean be saying something like that, Sam's the one that should say 'sorry', everything freezes.

The tear frozen in its track right at the corner of Dean's mouth.

Sam's brain needs a minute to figure out what the hell he's seeing as he stares at the frozen image in front of him. Everything looks... fake, like this is just some huge realistic poster. A cardboard cutout done by some hack. This can't be real.

His brain is still lagging when he notices from the corner of his eye, a hairline fracture growing ever longer and wider on the image in front of him. The more he looks, the more cracks he sees. It's _unreal_.

Those phantom fingers from the pit of his stomach, that have haunted him from the very beginning, are now clawing at the fleshy insides of his throat with a vengeance, as he sees a jagged line extend from the corner of the room, moving with insidious intent towards the center of the room where Dean is standing frozen.

Sam wants to yell at Dean to run, because clearly the sky is falling or something, but he doesn't have enough air to form the words, there's only enough to choke on. He can't _breathe_.

All he can do is shake his head as the sharp line finally reaches Dean and cuts right through the image of his face. Right through the tear and across his eye. Sam hears a sound that raises chills all over his body. It's indescribable, inhuman.

He can't look at what he's seeing anymore and shuts his eyes tight. The noise won't stop. It just keeps getting louder and louder like screaming and he just wants whatever is making that noise to be quiet. It takes Sam a long while before he realizes it's him, but before that, the world is noise and blackness and for a moment Sam is lost.


End file.
